Vintage Ride
by Nekoyaz
Summary: After the accident Gilbert just couldn't let go. Character Death.


One of my favorite feelings was being behind the wheel of my '67 Mustang. If it was night and the right song was on, for a moment I could pretend to be in another time. This car was craft all by my hand. I took a rusted out shell of a body and turned it into something beautiful. Everyone told me "Just buy a kit" when I was searching for it but that would be cheating. I hated the feel of fiberglass kits when I went to car shows. That's how you could tell if it had the original body. Just tap it. There should be metal under that paint. Half the fun of restoring the car was bringing out the beauty that was already there.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

Gilbert was with Liz when he got the call. There was an accident. He couldn't put his clothes back on fast enough.

It had been late. The fog off the ocean just rolling in. Those vintage headlights never worked for shit in bad weather. Gilbert told him and told him to rig something better up, he was smart, but the fool wanted the thing as accurate as possible. Gilbert always laughed and told him he looked basic as fuck in that bitch white boy car. It was pearl white. Or as Ludwig would argue, Wimbledon white. Or at least it was. Now, crumpled in the dark, it looked sad and gray.

Gilbert would never get the sight of the crumbled car, the dying beast, out of his head. When they tried to take the car to junk yard after declaring it totaled, he paid them to deliver it to his front yard. Where it would sit, an ugly blemish, on his suburban yard. The days passed and turned into weeks and then months. Life went on. But the car still sat in what seemed to be its final resting place.

"Get rid of that thing, please. It's starting to rust you know. It's a danger to the neighborhood kids."

"Their shitty parents should teach them not to trespass."

And that was that. Months turned into a year. The car started showing its decay. Open to the elements, the seat rotted and the paint chipped away at the damaged edges. Gilbert refused to even acknowledge it.

"Get rid of it! I'm tired of this, Gil! You need to let go! He's gone! And he's not coming back!"

There had been many offers for the car. All of them Gilbert turned away. He could see the dollar signs in their eyes. Most of them would restore the car and then sell it off for a large profit. It was surprising how many actually knew of Ludwig and were hoping Gilbert didn't know how much the car was worth even in its condition.

There was a knock on the door one afternoon. Gilbert opened it to a teen he'd seen around that lived across town.

"Hey, I'm Alfred. I was wondering if it would be okay for me to look at the car."

Most people didn't ask. They just put their hands all over it and only came a knocking when they had cash in hand and were ready to try haggling.

"It's not for sale."

"I just wanted to look."

Gilbert agreed and walked over with him. The kid peered in the window holes to inspect the interior. It was bad and Gilbert couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. The kid rapped on the side of the car.

"I love that sound. Metal under paint. Too many guys get those fiberglass kits. I prefer using the original body. You can bring out what's already there. You keep the spirit of the car alive."

"My brother used to say stuff like that. Do you know much about cars?"

"My grandad used to restore cars. He taught me a lot. I haven't worked on anything since he passed."

"When did he die?"

"About 3 months ago, the smoking finally caught up with him."

"It's rough."

"We would drive by here sometimes. He'd say 'That's a good one.' Every time I pass this yard I itch to fix her. She's so hurt from what happened, I just feel like bringing something beautiful out of her."

Gilbert rested his hand on the crumpled hood. He'd held on for so long. This car wasn't his brother and he was never coming back to get it.

"Come inside with me, let's talk prices."

AN: I'm not sure if I should leave it here in a one shot or if I should write more. Or maybe even separate longer story but with this setting and characters. This would be like the epilogue. I chose a Wimbledon white '67 Mustang because that's what my dad drove when I was a kid. He still has it but it's decaying out in the backyard because he's too busy and broke to fix it. I feel sad every time I see it. The story picture is my dad's car.


End file.
